When one thinks of Ukraine - at least positively - images of golden wheat fields first come to mind; however, the country has just as much right to be proud of its seafarers. Or does it?
Naval expeditions by Cossack ships against Turkish forts and cities were already common in the 16th century, reaching notoriety by the 17th, under Hetman Petro Sagaydachnyy.
Early Ukrainian sailors traced their shipbuilding techniques back to the Vikings, who had also navigated rough seas and inland waters to carry out long-distance raids. The Czarist navy, especially the Black Sea fleet, was dominated by Ukrainians.
Smugglers or Stooges?
Much of that adventurous spirit has remained, against a backdrop of difficult economic times at home and cutthroat competition abroad.
On June 17, two Ukrainian sailors - Captain Mykola Mazurenko, 66, and First Mate Ivan Soschenko, 47 - were released from Iraq's infamous Abu Ghurayb prison, where they'd spent the better part of a year after being convicted last October of oil smuggling.
Their vessel, the Navstar-1, belonged to a company in the United Arab Emirates but was flying a Panamanian flag. It had been detained in August by a British warship in the Persian Gulf with over 1,000 tonnes of crude oil aboard, in violation of an export ban.
The Navstar-1's 19 crewmen were released without charges, but the officers, Mazurenko and Soschenko, were arrested. Though they denied any wrongdoing, they were convicted and sentenced to seven years imprisonment, and fined $1.2 million each.
"No one is above the law in the new Iraq - be they rich, prominent, influential or foreign," Iraqi Justice Minister Hashim Al-Shibli said after the sentences were delivered.
"In a country such as Iraq, where there has been much injustice, the quest for justice takes on a special importance and urgency," U.S. administrator Paul Bremer added on Nov. 14.
Ukraine's Foreign Ministry and Nina Karpachevo, its human-rights ombudsman, had taken up the seamens' cause in public appeals to U.S. authorities, who apparently gave in, fearing the loss of Kyiv's support in Iraq (Ukraine's 1,600 troops make up the fifth-largest contribution to the U.S.- led stabilization force).
Just two days before Mazurenko and Soschenko were freed, another group of Ukrainian sailors were exonerated of drug trafficking charges in Tampa, Florida. All but one of the 16-man crew was acquitted and released after a five-week trial. The jury was divided over the fate of the only man not acquitted, a Lithuanian fluent in Spanish. He will be re-tried.
Their vessel, the Yalta, was intercepted last summer in the Atlantic Ocean with 3.5 tonnes of cocaine, which prosecutors say was headed for a European port.
The defendants argued that they were forced by a Colombian Cali Cartel drug trafficker to accept the cargo or find themselves with no way home. Six testified that they didn't know about the cocaine at all.
But Joseph K. Ruddy, who prosecuted the case for the government, said experience "has shown in maritime multi-ton drug interdictions, [that] traffickers do not put people on vessels carrying drugs that they don't trust."
The defendants remain incarcerated pending an appearance before an immigration judge who will decide whether to allow them to return home. Most of the crew had been on the Yalta about six months with legitimate work contracts obtained in their home countries.
Crew Hunters
Whether they are eventually freed, however, won't have much bearing on a more important issue: Is today's Ukrainian sailor a victim of exploitation by international shippers or a criminal mercenary?
"The Ukrainian sailor is a highly qualified professional," says Oleksandr Gubanov, a 70-year-old former sea captain who now runs an Odessa-based crewing agency called Sea Bee Lanimar.
Crewing agencies operate much like employment agencies, except the people looking for jobs are sailors and most agencies are based in ports. They appeared on the scene in the wake of Perestroyka and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, which left Ukraine's shipbuilding industry in ruins. With fewer ships being produced, but the same amount of personnel being trained, sailors began to seek employment on foreign vessels. Crewing agencies helped them find it.
However, things like contracts, licenses and visa applications were new concepts to post-Soviet seamen, many of whom were sometimes left high and dry in foreign countries with no pay, no documents and no way home.
The Labor Ministry's Bureau for Employment licenses crewing agencies, but "there are a lot of shady operations," Oleksandr Dmitriyev, a spokesman for Ukraine's Trade Union of Merchant Marines, told The Observer.
"I'm a middleman," Gubanov protested in the gruff manner of someone who'd seen more than his fair share of ocean. "With one foot in the grave, I'm too old to go around cheating people."
In addition, a sailor looking for work has to go through "a whole system" of procedures before getting hired, he said.
Clandestine Cargo
So how do so many Ukrainian sailors get into so many international messes?
"There's no smoke without fire," he replied, "I would never believe that a captain didn't know what cargo he was carrying."
That would seem to support the strong statements made by U.S. officials in Iraq and Florida.
"It's connected with the economic situation," explains Dmitriyev.
But that doesn't mean the roughly 50,000 sailors hailing from Ukraine are so pitifully desperate that they would work on any ship that pays them, he said.
Working on a ship is one of the highest-paid professions in Ukraine. A captain can make an average of $4,500 a month on a reputable ship.
The work pays so well that, according to Dmitriyev, a lot of unprofessional sailors are also attracted by the smell of saltwater and not as choosy or well-informed about the conditions they are offered.
This, in turn, puts pressure on otherwise professional seamen to keep from being under bid - a phenomenon not unheard of in Western countries, where the trade unions have more influence on the government.
"The term "trade union" has one meaning in the United States and quite another in Ukraine," Gubanov said.
Gubanov, however, agrees that if a seaman takes the right precautions, he can make good money: "Some of these captains are socking it away and building themselves country houses."
So what are the right precautions? Again, both men more or less see things in the same light: A crewing company with a legitimate license from the Labor Ministry and a contract with the ship owner, whose background and nationality should also be determined.
Dmitriyev, in turn, defends the role of his trade union, which he says consults the ministry and even comes along during checks of things like working conditions on ships.
"We investigate, for examples, appeals by the family members of sailors who have gotten into trouble abroad, by contacting the Ukrainian consulate," he said.
Financed by dues, the union also helps seamen collect pay or settle grievances with ship owners.
Shady crewing agencies have been a problem: 20 percent of Odessa's agencies were shut down recently by government inspectors. Ship owners also contribute to the problems. Both Dmitriyev and Gubanov are weary of ships registered in "third world countries."
"According to international law, the nationality of a ship owner has no bearing on the flag it flies," Dmitriyev pointed out. That explains how the names of so many obscure countries are mentioned in news stories about detained Ukrainian sailors.
"It's highly unlikely" that the Ukrainian captains of the vessels carrying oil and drugs weren't aware that their cargo was illicit, Dmitriyev said.
Not knowing what is in a ship's cargo hold can be lethal as well.
The Ukrainian crew of the Baltic Sky was arrested in Greek waters with 680 tonnes of explosives aboard last May. The Greeks faulted the vessel for not having the proper permits and neglecting to notify them of the hazardous nature of their cargo.
The crew told investigators they were just following orders from the captain, Anatoliy Baltak. Baltak, in turn, said he was following orders from the ship's owners, who had failed to obtain the proper permits.
The ship, registered in the Comoros Islands, was en route from Tunisia to Sudan through Greek waters when it was stopped. The crew refused assistance from Ukraine's consulate.
But more often than not, the situation resembles problems encountered at Ukraine's land borders.
Last month, German officials detained a Ukrainian yacht on its way to take part in an international regatta. They charged that the vessel was engaged in cigarette smuggling, Deutsche Welle reported.
Two years earlier, a Greek court sentenced five other Ukrainian seamen to four years in prison on the same charges. Greek authorities found the cigarettes after rescuing the six-member crew of the Bolivian-flagged cargo ship Pena, which ran aground off the island of Thassos in the northern Aegean Sea on May 22, 2002.
Cut and run
Crews don't always feign innocence.
The Russian coast guard detained 15 Ukrainian seamen in North Korean territorial waters on Mar. 9, Ukraine's Foreign Ministry reported. The ship was suspected of illegal crabbing. When the Bali, flying a Panamanian flag, was signaled to stop, it sped up and set a direct course for North Korea, Russian media reported.
However, not all of Ukraine's recent maritime history has stained the country's international reputation.
"There are good sailors and bad sailors," says Gubanov, "just like there are good and bad journalists."
And it isn't always the bad ones who come to the public's attention.
In January 2003, a small American community briefly adopted 17 Ukrainian seamen whose ship sank 200 miles off the coast of North Carolina. It was a heartwarming example of international sympathy.
The U.S. Coast Guard, which received an early-morning distress signal from the White Seal, arrived in the nick of time, hoisting a few of the hapless seamen on board in their underwear.
Once ashore, they were assisted by the Red Cross and Salvation Army. The people of Wilmington, N.C., including Russian and Ukrainian groups, chipped in as well.
Children from local schools made cards for the sailors and presented one seaman with gifts including a teddy bear and a bottle of cologne, a local newspaper reported.
The ship's owner, a Haitian, had disappeared.
John Marone is chief editor of Willard News Service, an online publication.
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